The Prodigal Son
by villains-doitbetter
Summary: Two months after the fiery demise of Judge Claude Frollo, Jehan Frollo returns to Paris to learn the shocking news of his brother's fate. [One-shot standalone from my other stories.]


**Characters are property of Disney and Victor Hugo and so on and so forth and what have you.**

 **Credit to ChicRockerGeek for inspiring me to write this!**

As the creaky little cart rolled over the city's cobblestones, the blond curly-haired man studied his old home, taking in the familiar sights and smells. He placed a small purse of change beside the driver before jumping out with his canvas sack over his shoulder, the horse's hoof beats instantly fading as his bright blue eyes gazed skyward at the great cathedral that loomed over the city. They instantly fell on its north tower from where the sound of the bells resounded.

With a deep breath, the man walked up the church's steps and pushed through the old wooden doors quietly, trying not to draw any attention. The inside of the church was silent and cold, his eyes remembering the familiar black and white checkered floors and eye-popping stained glass images. Muscle memory kicking in, he instantly headed for the direction of the stairwell.

As he treaded up the spiral staircase, the man ran a hand over the stone wall, memories flooding back to him of days walking up and down these steps to visit the bell tower to see his two family members.

He was surprised to find that the door at the top of the stairs was unlocked, opening it slowly and entering, the stuffy air greeting his nostrils. Trudging up the wooden steps to the bell tower loft, the man could hear shuffling as he neared the top.

Finally finding his voice, he called out, "Quasimodo?" He could hear lumbering footsteps approaching, gulping for his mouth had gone dry. Stopping in the middle of the staircase, the young man could see a hunched, misshapen figure peer over the top and down at the nearing visitor.

The mop of red hair on top of the asymmetrical head answered, "Je… _Jehan?_ Is that _you?_ "

The blond man's lips stretched to a crooked smile as he made his way to the top, his figure looming over the hunchbacked bell-ringer. Quasimodo's deformed eyes scrutinized the curly-haired man, awestruck at his sudden appearance.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Quasi?" Jehan greeted, one hand amicably patting the boy on his protruding hunch.

"It…it has," Quasimodo awkwardly replied. "Has it been three years already?"

Jehan nodded. "Three years too long—away from Paris in Rouen!"

Quasimodo studied the man who had only seen a few years before: his once shining golden blond curls had lost much of its luster and slightly greyed; there were a few small scars on his face; his vibrant blue eyes looked tired and rimmed with dark circles; and his rosy cheeks were now a sickly pale. He was _much_ different from how the hunchback remembered him.

"So…what were you doing in Rouen?" he asked Jehan, who took a seat at a nearby wooden bench, laying his travel bag at his feet.

"Well," Jehan ran a hand over his curls. "You travel to one city to another, and sometimes you just settle down in one that just feels right. Especially since I couldn't really come back to Paris, after how things ended between me and Claude; if you recall, they ended on a…a bit of a sour note."

"So you've traveled quite a bit since you left, haven't you?"

" _A lot!_ " Jehan answered jovially, a smile adorning his face. "But things have been a little hectic and the years weren't particularly kind to me, so I decided…Why not come back home and see my brother, I asked. How is Claude, by the way, Quasi? Is he still Minister of Justice?"

The boy's expression became crestfallen as he looked glumly at the dusty floor. "Uh…about that," Quasimodo answered quietly. "He…something happened…about two months ago."

Jehan furrowed his brows. "What are you talking about? Where's Claude?"

Quasimodo sighed heavily, his face desolate. "There was… _an incident_ with a gypsy, and…things just got out of control."

Jehan remembered his brother's infamous short temper and how quick he was to punish those who wronged him in the slightest. "How _'out of control'_ do you mean?" He asked, confusion evident on his face.

Quasimodo tensely ran a large hand over his red locks. "A gypsy girl named Esmeralda danced at the Festival and kind of yelled at him in front of everyone. So he tried to trap her here in the cathedral, but she escaped and went into hiding. He ended up losing his mind—he _burned_ half the city looking for her! Esmeralda was able to get sanctuary again, but he stormed Notre Dame and…he tried to kill her _and_ me."

"Why would Claude want to kill you both?" Jehan asked in disbelief, his hands trembling as they rested against his knees.

"For, um… _helping_ —I helped Esmeralda escape the church and I fended off the soldiers from coming in. I even poured the molten lead we use for the bells out of the water spouts and into the square." Quasimodo paused, a twinge of guilt making him look away from Jehan. "We...We were at the top of the bell tower, and he was waving a sword around saying that he was going to kill me…he said he should have done it twenty years ago. We were hanging onto one of the ledges, and I don't know why I still hung on to him, trying to keep him from falling. And when he was trying to kill us, he sort of…"

" _What happened?!_ " Jehan anxiously asked, his eyes pleading to know.

Quasimodo balled up one of his large hands into a fist, the memory still painful—saddening and angering. Casting a pitiful expression to his adopted uncle, the hunchback answered, "He lost his balance…and fell off the top of the church, and into the molten lead. I didn't mean for it to happen to him—I was just trying to keep Esmeralda safe. She's the kindest person I've ever met, and I couldn't let Frollo hurt her!"

Jehan's sweet face contorted into one of livid anger, tearing himself up from the wooden bench and towering over the hunchback. "You _betrayed_ my brother?! You let him die for the sake of some _gypsy?!_ The man took you in and raised you—he fed you, clothed you, taught you everything—and you just spit in his face? What's the matter with you—don't you know anything about _loyalty?!_ "

Standing up and studying Jehan's fierce grimace, Quasimodo could feel the strange emotion of resentment welling up inside him. "Your brother made it perfectly clear that he didn't care about me," the bell-ringer evenly answered, glowering at the seething man. "I finally left the cathedral to see the Festival of Fools, and when I did, I was laughed at by everyone in Paris. I asked him to help me, and he didn't, and you know who did help?"

Jehan stood silent, without an answer, fists shaking at his sides.

"Esmeralda," Quasimodo continued. "And I told you what he said to me before he died: that he should have done away with me when he had the chance. I finally saw him for the man he _really_ was, and I'm glad I did."

Jehan clamped a hand over his mouth, turning away from the bitter boy. Quasimodo could hear a small choked sound escape him, Jehan quickly trying to stifle it. Wiping his eyes with the back of his dirty doublet sleeve, he turned towards Quasimodo once again. He refused to look at the boy, instead locking his gaze on his boots. "Where, um…where did they bury him? Was he given a proper burial?"

Quasimodo recalled that rainy day, rivulets streaming down the portraits of apostles like teardrops, as he watched the lonely service from behind one of the nave's columns. The Archdeacon performed the rites and prayed that God would have mercy on the poor man's soul. The church's monks served as pallbearers and carried the wooden coffin to a cart outside. As the driver snapped the reins for the horse to get moving, the fat rain drops pelted heavily against the wooden surface and cobblestones, puddles splashing as the wheels rolled over them.

"Saints-Innocents, I think," the boy answered, nervously wringing his hands.

Jehan nodded his head slowly, picking up his travel bag. Abruptly, he turned and grabbed Quasimodo by the collar of his green tunic, the boy paralyzed by fear. "My brother is _dead_ because of _you!_ " he growled menacingly. "I hope to God that she was worth it!" He harshly let go of the boy, turning to march down the steps, leaving the stunned bell-ringer speechless.

X

Pushing through the creaky black cemetery gates, Jehan entered the famous grounds of Saints-Innocent. He walked through the streets of Paris in a daze, pushing past every peddler, vendor, and beggar, his mind flooding with memories of his brother's stern face and deep condemning voice. He remembered drawing unflattering pictures of him, exaggerating his brother's hooked nose and drawing beastlike fangs to amuse his friends.

Dirt shifted under his boots as he strolled through, passing headstone after headstone until finally seeing a great stone mausoleum atop a small hill at the edge of the graveyard. Claude had brought him here a few times as a child to pay their respects to their late parents. The façade was decorated with columns, a slab above the pointed pediment reading "Frollo".

Without warning, Jehan's knees buckled under him, his canvas sack falling off his shoulder to the dirt. His eyes filled with tears and a sob wrenched itself from his throat. One hand shakily covered his now tear-stained face, harshly bunching a clump of dirt in the other. The young man felt a harrowing depression and hollowness settle in his core, the awful sense of solitude consuming him.

Jehan's sobs deafened him, so he did not hear the shuffling sound approaching him. Only when he felt a small hand gently clasp his thin shoulder did he realize he was not alone.

"Are you alright?" Jehan looked up surprised. He saw before him a beautiful gypsy girl with stunning green eyes, bright red lips, a mass of ebony curls flowing freely over her shoulders, and wearing a most royal purple-colored skirt below her flowing white bodice. Beside her was a small white goat who bleated and cocked his head at the curly-haired man.

Her husky voice sent shivers down his spine as he brushed her hand away. Jehan stood up and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "No— _I'm not!_ " He snarled, his voice trembling. "I just learned that my brother is dead—the only family I had left in this world… _gone!_ "

The gypsy girl saw him wave towards the great mausoleum. She could not read its name but she remembered months ago, watching in secret as the local cemetery keepers escorted the Minister of Justice's coffin inside before locking it tight. "Your _brother?_ " She asked in disbelief. " _Frollo?_ As in… _Minister_ _Frollo?_ "

"Yes. Claude was like a father to me—he raised me, sent to me to school, he helped me when I needed it," Jehan answered, sniffling. "But now he's gone." He sunk to the ground depressed, resting his arms on his knees. The gypsy took a seat next to him, the goat sitting beside her.

"I forgot he had a brother," she quietly remarked. "Were you two close?"

Jehan laughed a little. " _'Close'_ as in we were stuck with each other, but we were complete opposites. Claude was always up in arms about something or another and a stickler to order, and I wanted to taste every Forbidden Fruit there was, and not a care in the world. And that was the essence of our relationship." He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "I was always in need of money, and Claude was always there to hand it to me—with a little lecture on the side, of course."

"Quite the troublemaker, were we?" The gypsy girl jested, inside baffled that it had really only been about two months since the judge's death…and here she was, speaking about him to his _brother_ of all people.

"That's an understatement," Jehan replied. "I drove him absolutely crazy! I remember after Quasimodo came into our family, Claude told me that he didn't need _two_ children to care for and that I could look after myself. Of course it didn't stop him from helping his little brother out every now and again. Things actually got easier after Quasi entered our lives."

The young woman raised an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Claude was so busy with trying to juggle maintaining the city and keeping an eye on Quasi, that he would just throw a few coins my way just to get me out of his hair. But to be fair, I tried to help him at times; sometimes he was just too stressed and I tried to help him calm down with a drink or something, but he was just wound too tight. I guess he just finally snapped."

"So I'm guessing you heard about what happened with the Feast of Fools then?" She asked as she brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. Inside she was afraid of what his reaction would be. Her goat nuzzled his head against her arm as she waited for an answer.

"Oh yes, Quasimodo told me everything." Jehan's tone was bitter, one hand balling into a shaking fist. "He told me Claude went completely mad over some gypsy dancer and burned down half of Paris for her. I know my brother was one card short of a full deck, but I doubt he had so much anger that he would go completely mental over a gypsy. Mind you, I never had a problem with your kind like he did, but a man who loved nothing and nobody suddenly obsessing over one gypsy— _torching the city looking for her_ …it just doesn't sound like Claude."

The gypsy furrowed her brow and pursed her lips at him. "Maybe you didn't know your brother as well as you think you did. A lot of people still haven't recovered since the fires."

"You know, I could forgive Claude for that, but you know what I can't? What Quasimodo did to him was a complete stab in the back! My brother took it upon himself to raise him and give him a home, and how does he thank Claude? By kicking him to the curb to save some gypsy!" Jehan choked back tears, the gypsy herself fighting back a venomous retort as she watched the young man crumble. "I watched Claude feed him, read to him, put him to bed…I just can't believe Quasi would do that." Jehan rested his head in the palm of his hand, trying to recompose himself.

"You mean finally sticking up for himself?" the girl asked bitingly. "You should've seen what the city did to Quasi at the festival: they tied him down and laughed while they pelted him with garbage. Frollo could've helped him, but he chose to sit back and do nothing and let the crowd abuse him!"

"If I knew my brother, he probably had a good reason for it," Jehan replied nonchalantly, not noticing the irritation coloring the gypsy's face. "And he was a stubborn bastard—perpetually angry and miserable—but there's no denying that he was quick as a whip. He was just a little too tense all the time."

She was stunned that the man could both praise and belittle his late brother in the same breath. "Then why did you come back to Paris?" she asked, her green gaze icy and her tone accusing, both of which were lost on Jehan.

He sighed and scratched his head. His face was absolutely devastated. "I lost everything in the last couple of years: my freedom, my work, my money. I thought that if I came crawling back with nothing, maybe Claude would lend a helping hand. But…I guess that's not the case anymore."

The gypsy sighed, running her fingers over the goat's white fur. "Look, I don't exactly know what happened between you and Frollo, but his death might have been for the best. Gypsies aren't living in fear of him anymore, Quasimodo is learning how to live a normal life outside the bell tower, and the new Minister is a pretty fair guy when it comes to crime."

Jehan shook his head. "I just wish I hadn't left things so bitter with him when I left…and now he'll never know how sorry I am for what happened between us."

The gypsy fidgeted with the gold bracelets on her wrists nervously. "If you don't mind me asking," she began. "What _did_ happen between you both?"

"Let's just say that I ended up causing more trouble than he could handle. Eventually Claude just got sick of dealing with everything I dragged him into…especially when it almost cost him his position. I had to leave Paris, and I said some things to him that I shouldn't have. I came back for his help now, even though he probably would have just sent me away again, but it wouldn't have hurt to try."

She blinked at his sentiment. "You don't have _any_ other family? None at all?" she asked.

Jehan shrugged. "Our parents died when I was still a baby, so I never knew them. As for distant relatives, none that I know of."

The jade-eyed gypsy couldn't help but feel slight sympathy towards this poor, defeated, misguided man. While she took comfort in the company of Quasimodo, her pet goat, the other gypsies of Paris, and her beloved Captain of the Guard, this man was penniless, sickly-looking, and all alone in this world. But she still couldn't shake the fact that he was still the brother of the man who persecuted her people. "So what's next for you, now that your brother's gone?" she inquired, studying the man's contemplative expression.

Jehan looked sadly at her with his repentant blue eyes before rising to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked absent-mindedly to the overcast sky. "Who knows? There's nothing left for me in Paris. I told Claude that I would go vagabond someday…I guess that's all that's left to do. I'm sure I'll think of something, I always do."

She could hear the fear coloring his voice. He gave an empty, humorless chuckle. "God, _Esmeralda…_ what a name. I hope whoever she is, she was worth all that trouble. Must be one hell of a woman!"

The young woman did not reply to his comment as she stood up and smoothed out her purple skirt. She nodded her head and said, "Well, wherever you end up, I wish you the best of luck."

Jehan weakly smiled, extending his scarred hand towards her, the gypsy girl amiably shaking it. "Thanks. Hope my brother didn't scar you and your family too bad. Nice talking to you." And with that, the curly-haired man threw his canvas travel sack back on his shoulder and made his way out of the cemetery, never looking back.

After he was gone from sight, the gypsy looked down at the small goat who only bleated, as if asking her what to do next. "Come on, Djali. We still have a full day of work ahead of us."


End file.
